Demon Moon

nonchalant as he unzipped his lightweight jacket. She’d never seen him truly bored; he only affected it when he was at his most interested—or frightened. “If that Scroll is an accounting of mine, pray do not tell me the balance. A credit is a boast, a debit an embarrassment—and to acknowledge either exceedingly vulgar.”
    “It is neither. I tally; I don’t demand payment. That is demonic.” Michael stepped to a workstation in the middle of the room, vanished a computer from the tabletop, and spread the Scroll open. “Shield the room.”
    As Colin pricked his thumb and dotted it to the symbols, Savi rose from her chair to study the parchment. She slid her hand over its pale cream surface, tested the edges. The paper between her fingers was as thin as onionskin, but she could hardly bend it. “Is it blank—or can I just not see the writing?”
    Lilith joined Hugh at the other side of the table, stood with her arms folded beneath her breasts, frowning down at the Scroll.
    “There is nothing yet written. I’ve not yet heard anything of this curse to record.”
    Startled, Savi glanced over at Colin, found him standing beside her. The crease of his brow betrayed his own surprise; he met her gaze, blinked, then looked from Michael to Hugh. “You must have known. It was in Switzerland.”
    Hugh shook his head. “I saw that you’d covered your mirrors; I’d no reason to think it a curse, or different from anything you’d done in the five years since your transformation. I’d not seen you in that time.”
    “And when he came to me later, related the lack of reflection, we thought it an effect of the sword. You gave no indication that you saw something within the mirror until you returned from Chaos.”
    “I’d no idea such a place as Chaos existed,” Colin said. “I assumed it was Hell, or a nightmare reflection of myself. The curse was supposed to show us our inner selves; we thought it a joke.”
    “So did I, until a minute ago. This really was a curse ?” Lilith looked between Michael and Hugh. “You aren’t serious.”
    “They’re exceptionally rare; typically, they don’t work, except in an accidental convergence of symbols, blood, and items with a particular resonance,” Michael said.
    Lilith frowned. “But Lucifer told no one of the symbols; I learned how to use the protection spell by luck. And except for that, I’ve never taught anyone those I do know, because I daren’t write them. Have you?”
    “No. They are too powerful; too dangerous. But it is inevitable that a human eventually stumbles onto a particular symbol. And perhaps knowledge of a few is left over from before, but their power rendered inert except in unique circumstances.”
    “Before when?” Savi asked.
    Michael glanced at her, his mouth a hard, straight line. “Before I began writing the Scrolls in Latin.”
    She compressed her lips to stop herself, and focused on the more important question: “Can it be broken?”
    Savi slipped her hand into Colin’s as Michael said, “No. Once done, some things cannot be reversed.”
    Colin’s fingers clenched on hers, but aside from that small movement, he gave no response.
    “Then what is this for?” Savi said dully, indicating the Scroll with her free hand.
    “Some things cannot be undone; however, they may be altered. But I cannot go forward without knowing what has gone before. Do you recall the words you spoke with it?”
    “Yes.” Colin’s brows lifted when Michael looked at him expectantly. “You cannot expect me to repeat them?”
    “I can.”
    “Bloody hell.” Colin closed his eyes, and his body tensed as he recited a string of words in a language Savi didn’t recognize. He half-raised his lids to peer about, then smiled down at her. “And I’m still here.”
    She grinned in response, letting out a breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “What was that?”
    “Romany,” Hugh said. “Roughly translated, a command to reflect a true nature hidden within.”
    “The language matters less than the meaning and intent behind it.” Michael raised his hand over the Scroll; a blade flashed and disappeared. Blood thinned and spread in rivulets over the paper, sliding into an arrangement of letters and words. Latin—yet another translation of the curse.
    Savi read the first lines, fascinated. “Are you moving it into place with your mind, or does your blood make the letters on its own?”
    “There’s no difference,” Michael said